Past the Edge of Dreaming
by RoaringMice
Summary: It wasn’t until he felt the knife plunge into his back that he realized how bloody foolish he’d been.
1. Chapter 1

Hi! I know it's been a while since I've posted a story. So I'm making up for it with one that's relatively long - well, long for me. Enjoy!

_Warnings: Swearing. Violence. Angst. _

_The following warning is kind of a spoiler, so read it at your own peril: in one part, this story may seem like a deathfic. I know people prefer to be warned about deathfics. This is *not* a deathfic._

x-x

- Now -

It wasn't until he felt the knife plunge into his back that he realized how bloody foolish he'd been.

Malcolm turned toward his attacker, and felt it again, in his ribs. Sharp pain gone dull; hot to cold in an instant. He looked from the knife, to the hand holding it, and up into the face of the man who'd struck him. Trip. He wrapped his own hand around where Trip's was clenched on the hilt of the knife, thinking he might push it away, but somehow, he couldn't quite manage.

"I didn't think you had it in you," he said.

Trip looked him in the eyes. "That's because you don't know me at all." And at that, Trip wrenched the knife, turning it as he pulled it out.

Malcolm fell from his seat, lying crumpled on the floor by the console. He stared at Trip's feet. He should fight back. He should get up, and grab that knife, and… He should…

Trip squatted beside him and, with a shaking hand, pushed Malcolm's hair back from his forehead.

Malcolm's eyes slid closed. "No," he managed to say.

"Sorry, kid," Trip said softly, from somewhere quite close.

Malcolm knew what was coming. When he felt the sharp thrust of pain in his side, he let it come.

x-x

- Then -

Malcolm scanned the others on the train. Even well after what would logically be the rush hour, there were still enough passengers to fill every seat, forcing him to sit directly beside Trip, their thighs nearly touching on the narrow bench.

There was a steady thrum as the train sped along the track, almost but not quite like the trains back at home, just different enough to be alien. Malcolm could hear Trip going on about their visit, voice carrying over those of the other passengers, a wash of sound that lulled him. Trains had always made him drowsy, and he'd been trying hard to stay alert. Still, it had been a losing battle; after the first hour, he could feel himself slipping. By the second, he knew he was in serious trouble.

The train jerked, starting him to awareness, and his eyes caught those of the person across the aisle from him. She was staring at him, blue eyes piercing, but he knew it was not because he was obviously alien – they could pass for locals here. He'd probably said something in his sleep.

He could not sleep, he thought, eyes drifting nearly shut again. It was his duty to remain awake and on guard.

He felt a nudge to his arm, and managed to pry his eyes fully open to reveal Trip, seeming perfectly alert, beside him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, feeling as if he was still half dreaming.

"It's all right," Trip said, chuckling. "I'll keep watch, for what it's worth," he added, taking in the peaceful citizens around them, half of whom appeared as sleepy as Malcolm himself likely did.

"No," Malcolm said firmly, straightening in his seat.

It was a peaceful planet, and low in crime. Archer had only included security on the mission because it was procedure, not due to any perceived need on the captain's part. Despite that, was Malcolm's duty, his responsibility, to remain awake and alert, on guard against any possible…

He didn't even realise he'd nearly drifted off until he heard Trip's quiet, "Go to sleep, Malcolm."

He struggled to open his eyes. This was unlike him. In training, he'd remained awake for stretches as long as thirty six hours; there was no way he should be so unable to overcome this now. Something must be wrong. If only he could… if… He'd been tired ever since their… Well, more than a swim, less than a full out water ritual. Not his idea of fun, lying in a few inches of heavily salted water for an hour. At least it had been warm.

He knew Trip had been surprised he'd gone through with it, but really, it had only been a few inches of water, and it was one of the – gratefully – very few ceremonies they'd been asked to participate in since their arrival several days before. After getting past the initial, brief panic at the floating feeling, he'd been fine – or he had been once he realised that, if he reached down with his hands, he could touch the bottom of the pool quite easily. He'd felt the fear, but been able to manage it. Occasionally, over the course of the ceremony, he would let his fingers brush the smooth stone surface, to anchor himself in the sensation. But he'd been otherwise all right. Sleepy, in fact, after a bit. Then, now.

He felt a nudge. "You're talking," Trip said, voice low.

"Am I?" Malcolm asked, eyes still shut.

"Yes. Not a big deal," Trip said.

Trip said something else, but Malcolm missed it. He was floating – it was an odd sensation, being so buoyant in such a shallow pool. The water was mere inches deep – he could touch the bottom with the smallest amount of effort – but…

…He lay down, the water quickly soaking through the blue trousers and shirt he'd been given for the ceremony. He'd looked around the room before closing his eyes and lying back, and found that each of his crewmates had been dressed as he was, each one ready, prepared, each one in blue, blue to match the water, his eyes, the sky, the sea, Trip's eyes were blue, Jon's green, Hoshi's brown, very dark, unlike his, stormy, grey, blue like the water, the sky, the sea, Trip's eyes…

He felt a tug to his arm. "Malcolm!" He looked up, past the point of dreaming, and saw Trip's concerned eyes – blue, like the sea, and –

"Malcolm, you with me?"

"What?" he asked. He was… he was lying on the floor of the train; there were people gathered around him, and Trip there, hand firmly clasped around his arm. He tensed, heart leaping suddenly in his chest. "What just happened?"

"You had some kind of seizure."

"I what?" Malcolm asked, shock making his voice sharp. He'd never had a seizure before. He felt fine. Tired, but fine. Anxious. Sore. But fine. He made to push himself up, and Trip helped him sit on the floor with his back against one of the benches. The woman who'd been staring at him earlier – the one with the blue eyes – said something to the onlookers and shooed them away. Malcolm cast her a grateful look.

"I feel fine," Malcolm said as he turned to Trip, echoing his thoughts. And he did. He had no idea of what had just happened, but he felt all right. Tired, but otherwise all right. "Can you help me up?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Trip nodded and stood, one hand to Malcolm's elbow as he guided him into a chair. "They've called their medical services. Should be here in a minute."

And at that Malcolm realized the train had stopped moving. "Is that really necessary?" he asked. All this fuss, for what? Whatever had happened, he was okay now.

"Are you kidding?" Trip replied, seeming incredulous. "You don't seriously think…"

Think? He wasn't sure what he thought. All he knew, as he fell, was the water surrounding him, and the sea, blue like the water, the sky, the sea, Trip's eyes…

x-x

Trip strode through sickbay's doors, going directly to Malcolm's bedside without so much as a by-your-leave to the people he passed. Eyes only for the unconscious form on the biobed, he asked, "You gonna tell me what the hell happened down there?" only realizing once his words were out how combative they likely were.

Phlox, ever the professional, paid them no mind. "His seizures seem to have been caused by a metabolic imbalance," the doctor said from the other side of the bed. His gaze remained on the device he was passing over Malcolm's body, and he murmured something to the nurse assisting. She made a quick adjustment to the medications flowing into Malcolm's arm, and Phlox looked to Trip with a tight smile. "The medications have stopped the seizures. We're still looking for the underlying cause."

Trip looked down at his friend. Malcolm was pale, dark circles framing eyes closed and dreaming. He placed his hands, palms flat, on the mattress; close enough to Malcolm's arm as to feel his body heat, but not close enough to touch. "He'll be all right?" he finally asked.

"We'll know more soon," Phlox said.

Trip let out a breath. By basically saying nothing, the doctor had just said a hell of a lot.

Maybe if he'd gotten Malcolm here sooner; but it had taken several minutes for the planet's medics to arrive, then some time before they could get back to the hotel, and from the hotel, to Enterprise. By that time, Malcolm had seized four times, and was no longer alert between attacks. If only their communicators had worked, but the stupid atmosphere was too full of crap to allow them to function over long distances.

"You did everything you could," Phlox said.

Still looking only at Malcolm, Trip nodded absently. He knew that. He had done all he could. Problem was, he wasn't sure that was enough.

x-x

Malcolm finally broke the surface, coming up into the all-too-familiar scents of antiseptics, cleaners, and underlying all that, animal bedding. He could feel the heavy heat of an IV snaking into his arm, hear the soft sounds of the monitors overhead. Finally waking fully, he opened his eyes to the dim lights of night in sickbay.

He knew where he was, but why? Turning his head to the side, he searched the room for some indication of what had happened. It all looked as normal – medical supplies neatly piled on the nearby counter, small stack of scrubs inside a windowed cabinet. The only odd thing, now he thought of it, was that there was no staff. Normally, when a patient woke in sickbay, the monitors let the staff know, and someone would come and check. This time, nothing.

Slowly, he sat up, careful of the line in his arm, and gave himself the once-over. He felt all right. A bit tired, maybe a bit sore, but fine. Sliding off the bed, he grasped the pole from which his IV was hanging and took a slow, measured step. Turning, he looked across the bed toward the far door. Only then did he notice that his body was still on the bed.

He stared down at himself in numb shock.

That couldn't be good.

x-x

_Please review and let me know what you think of this so far. Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the reviews! Here's the next section:_

x-x

Phlox slid a chair up next to where Trip was standing, and Trip slid into it. He cast a grateful smile to Phlox as the doctor moved away, and then turned his eyes back to his friend.

If he didn't know better, he might be able to convince himself that Malcolm was okay; just sleeping. His chest rose and fell under the sheet with a reassuringly regular rhythm, and his eyes were moving under their lids, as if deep in slumber. If Trip ignored the tubes, the monitors, and the look of worry on Phlox's face, he'd almost be able to convince himself that Malcolm was all right.

What the hell had gone wrong on that planet? It was as if Malcolm was fine one moment – drowsing on the train – and seizing the next. It wasn't like Malcolm had a history of seizures. Sure, Trip had only known the man for a year, so it's not as if he knew his entire history, but there was no way Starfleet would have let him into the service if he'd had a history of seizures; so this was definitely new.

At least Phlox had got the seizures under control. But why hadn't Malcolm woken up? It had been hours since they'd been on that damn train.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Trip asked his friend, knowing that there would be no answer.

x-x

Purposefully not looking back at the man on the bed, Malcolm reached a tentative hand forward and triggered the comm. on the wall. "Reed to bridge," he said, a sinking feeling in his stomach. When he got no answer, he tried another. "Reed to Engineering," he said, knowing as he said it that it was useless. "Reed to Tucker," he tried finally. All he got in response was silence.

"All right," he said aloud, if only to hear his own voice.

He'd already checked the condition of the man on the bed. Breathing, but seeming deeply unconscious, best he could tell from the readings on the monitors.

Malcolm looked down at the IV in his arm, and then to the catheter snaking, from where, he'd rather not think. He needed to check the ship. In order to do that, he needed to be mobile. He glanced up at the container of medication hanging from the pole, and, hoping that he could get by without whatever it was, he turned the clamp, then disconnected the line; and repeated the process for the catheter, adding a hiss as he did that one.

Freed, he walked carefully toward the supply cabinet, hoping he'd find some socks or slippers or something to protect his bare feet from the cold of the deck plating, but he had no luck. He curled his toes against the cold floor and, knowing there was nothing else for it, he steeled himself, and triggered the doors.

There was no one in the corridor.

He glanced back to the clock on the wall, visible through sickbay's doors. Oh-eight-hundred-hours. Shift change. And no one in the corridor.

With a final glance at the man on the bed, he stepped into the hallway. The doors closed behind him, leaving him alone but for the sounds of his own footfalls, and the hum of the engines.

His first stop was the armoury, where he went immediately to the computers and checked the ship for life signs.

None, but for his own. Not even from sickbay.

Numbly, with half a thought, he armed himself. Soon, he was standing in the middle of the bridge, the flutter and whir of active machinery all around him. He stared at the viewscreen, unseeing, the star field spread before him, weapon dangling uselessly at his side.

There was no one here.

x-x

Trip strode through the corridors of the ship with a purpose that he did not feel. The captain had given him the rest of the day off, but in all honesty, he'd prefer to be in engineering tackling some project; at least it'd keep his mind occupied. As it was, he was kind of at a loss. He didn't want to go to his quarters – he was too keyed up from what had happened down on the planet to sleep. He could spend more time in sickbay with Malcolm, but what good was that doing? In the end, he hit the mess; because as his mama always said, no matter what, he could always eat.

Ignoring the few people who were scattered about the space, he went directly to the food line and, only half thinking about it, filled a mug with coffee and grabbed a plate. He turned back to the room. Only then did he see Hoshi sitting nearby. When she lifted a brow in invitation, he gave her a wan smile and slid into the chair across from her.

"How's Lieutenant Reed?," Hoshi asked, fork poised over her salad.

Trip couldn't help but wince. News sure spread fast on small ships. "I'm not sure yet," he finally said.

He must look more worried than he thought, because Hoshi put down her fork and, leaning across the table, asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

Unsure if she was referring to him or to Malcolm, he simply shrugged. "The doc is doing his thing."

"Are we allowed to visit?" she asked.

Trip looked at her in surprise. "I thought you and Malcolm were…" He frowned, and left the rest unsaid. After Hoshi had asked Malcolm about his favorite foods, and Malcolm had misunderstood her interest in his diet as interest in him, things had gone from formal to awkward between the two of them.

Hoshi shrugged. "I figured he could use the company."

Trip smiled genuinely. Here he was, complex machinations spinning through his head, and all Hoshi was doing was trying to be nice.

"Yeah, we can visit," he said.

x-x

Malcolm returned to sickbay, feeling at loose ends. His body, or other self, or what have you, was still lying on one of the biobeds, but otherwise, and perhaps even including that man, there wasn't a living person on this ship. He had walked port to starboard, stem to stern, and he hadn't found a soul.

He had thought of sending a message out there, despite the fact that no populated systems were currently within reach, but that would have been less than useless. In the end, he'd tried Starfleet, knowing Enterprise was out too far to reach them, hoping that would get his message anyway. He wasn't counting on it.

Maybe he could figure a way to get the ship to return to their last port of call, the planet where he'd taken ill. But Enterprise normally took a crew of over eighty; the likelihood that he could, on his own, bring the ship safely back to that system was nil.

He was tired and sore, so he grabbed a blanket from the nearest stack and curled up on the biobed furthest from that of his double – far enough, but not so far that he couldn't keep watch. Sighing, he placed his weapon on the table beside him, and pulled the blanket over his shoulders, letting his eyes fall shut, although he remained focused on the activity – or lack thereof – in the room. Only then did he realize that something else was missing: there were no animal noises. Even Phlox's animals had gone.

His mind ran through the situation. The only people left on the ship were him, and his double. Why? Why was he here? Why was that other thing, that golem, here? Where was everyone? What had happened? Opening his eyes, he stared across at his other self. The man, if that's what it was, was breathing. The monitors overhead were clearly picking up life signs. And yet when he'd scanned the ship for life signs, he'd found only his own – not those of this simulacrum.

Pushing himself up, he slid off the bed. He took a step toward the man, then another, bare feet quiet on the cold floor. He should have stopped by his quarters for socks, a change of clothing, but he was only now thinking of it, and that only because he was looking for a distraction, rather than to think about what he was about to do.

Reaching his, or it's, bedside, he stood still a moment, observing. The man hadn't moved; other than the slow rise and fall of his chest. Malcolm lifted a tentative hand, with only the slightest of trembles, toward the man. Gently, he touched his hand.

The man grabbed and held.

Malcolm jerked back, trying to get away, but the man had his arm in a firm grasp.

Eyes dark, pupils blown, the man said, "Hello, Malcolm," in the voice they both shared. His lip curled up into something that was caught between a snarl and a grin as he said, "I've been waiting for you," and he pulled Malcolm in.

x-x

_Please let me know what you think of this story so far. _


	3. Chapter 3

_Oh, Malcolm! Ack! _

x-x

When Trip entered sickbay, Hoshi at his side, he found the place bustling with activity, motion, and people. It was a small space, and between the flurry of medical staff and patients, he wasn't even sure where to look.

Hoshi murmured, half under her breath, "Maybe this isn't such a good time."

"I'm sorry, Commander, Ensign," Phlox said, having noticed them from his position beside a patient. "There is an upper respiratory virus going around, and it seems that half the crew is suddenly under the weather. I'll be with you in a moment."

"No," Trip said, waving a dismissive hand. "We're fine. We're just here to visit Malcolm."

Phlox nodded toward the bed in question, which had been curtained off. "I've put an isolation field up around him, to keep him from catching this. So long as you stay beyond the blue line you'll see around his bed, you are welcome to visit."

Thus when Trip, leading the way, stepped through the opening in the curtain, his eyes were on the floor, looking for the line Phlox had mentioned, and not on the man on the bed in front of him. It wasn't until he heard Hoshi's gasp that he looked up.

Malcolm was lying on his bed, eyes open and looking somewhere to his right. His arm was raised, fist wrapped so tightly around his IV pole that his knuckles had gone white.

"Lieutenant?" Hoshi asked.

Malcolm said something, but he didn't look at them.

Trip sent out an anxious call, "Phlox?" as he moved toward his friend, careful of that blue line. "Hey, Malcolm, are you okay?"

Malcolm blinked, and his eyes slowly tracked to meet Trip's gaze. "Trip," he said, voice rough. He held Trip's gaze unblinkingly, staring at him as if he didn't know him.

"Hey," Trip said uncomfortably, breaking eye contact as Phlox entered the area.

The doctor did something to one of the devices on the bed, and the isolation field dropped. He exchanged a meaningful look with Trip, and Trip gave him a nod before moving away. He'd been in sickbay himself enough to know that Phlox would want some measure of privacy while examining Malcolm.

As they moved through the curtain, Hoshi smiled. "Good news," she said firmly.

"Good news," Trip echoed, although he knew he sounded a bit less sure.

"Phlox'll probably be a while," Hoshi said. "All right if I check back later?"

Trip nodded absently, eyes on the curtain around Malcolm's bed. There had been something about Malcolm – something in his eyes, in his demeanour, that made him suspect that all wasn't quite well with his friend.

x-x

Malcolm sat propped up on the biobed as Phlox asked him a series of questions. He answered absently, his focus more on the pound of the blood through his veins, the feel of his heart beating, the tension in his chest as he breathed in, then out.

He stretched his fingers, spreading them wide against the blanket. It had been so long since he'd had a body. This one, albeit not quite the shape or style of the one he'd been used to, had its merits. The feel of the cloth under his hands, of the air on his skin… He shivered, and Phlox gave him a concerned look.

"Are you cold, Lieutenant?"

"Perhaps," Malcolm answered, enjoying the vibration his voice made in his throat, his chest, his head. He knew it well, of course, from his memories, those he'd assimilated from this being, but it was something else to actually be experiencing such things himself.

This was his first time merging with a human, and he had to admit, so far he liked it. He grasped the blanket the doctor draped over his legs, nodding gratefully, as Malcolm normally would in this situation. Pulling the blanket in close, he rubbed his fingers against the soft fabric. Lovely. Truly lovely. It had been so very long since he'd actually felt anything, the tactile sensations were almost overwhelming.

Phlox's gaze moved from where Malcolm was fingering the blanket, to the device in his hand. "I'm seeing some unusual readings," he said. He looked up and smiled. "Nothing to worry about; just mildly elevated levels of certain neurochemicals. Otherwise, you seem in good health. How are you feeling?"

Malcolm cocked his head in thought, paying careful attention to the aches and pains of this body. "My neck hurts. My head."

"Possibly after-effects of the seizures," Phlox said, peering at him carefully. "I will give you an analgesic."

"Thank you," Malcolm said. As Phlox administered the dosage, Malcolm asked, "Can I leave?" He might actually be able to get started sooner than he'd thought.

"Not quite yet." Phlox said absently, accepting a padd from a passing medic. "You'll need to stay for a bit, for observation more than anything," he said reassuringly.

Malcolm nodded and settled back into the bed. Later, then. Later, it would start.

x-x

Trip looked up as the curtain around Malcolm's bed shifted, and was pulled open. His friend was lying on the bed, eyes shut, seemingly dozing.

Phlox murmured something to a medic as he came forward, and then, brightly, said, "Commander, if you would." He waved Trip over, and then actually grabbed Trip by the arm and drew him away. "We're quite busy here, and I have some medications that really should be delivered…"

Trip followed, too surprised to react. Phlox was extremely averse to casual touch. That the doctor had grabbed him by the arm meant – well, he wasn't sure what it meant, but it couldn't be good.

They entered Phlox's office, and as the door shut behind them, Phlox dropped all pretence of joviality. "I do not think that is our Mister Reed."

"What?" Trip spat out.

"I am not sure of what is going on," Phlox said, eyes moving from the closed door back to Trip. "The readings are odd, different from what they were when he was unconscious. It's not conclusive, I admit, and yet…" The doctor seemed uncomfortable. "I've known him for a year, and although I feel I know him fairly well..." He frowned slightly. "He didn't even ask why he was there. I mentioned the seizures, and got no reaction. And then, when I said he could not leave, he simply accepted that. Very unlike our Lieutenant Reed."

"After everything he's been through, I'm not surprised if he's acting kind of funny," Trip said, tension making his words sound clipped.

Phlox waved him off. "The seizures, his behaviour, the readings I am getting… It is as if there is someone else…" Phlox waved a hand vaguely, and sank down into one of the chairs flanking the desk. Trip followed suit.

"I am seeing changes to his scans which can not be due to brain damage, or illness." Phlox leaned forward across the desk. "From what I am seeing, we have cause for concern."

Trip cocked his head, crossing his arms over his chest. He sighed loudly. "I thought he was acting kind of weird." In his tension, he curled one hand into a fist, rubbing his upper arm with it. "Does he… it… suspect anything?"

"No," Phlox said. "I made sure to act as if nothing was amiss."

"We should call security," Trip said, already up and moving toward the comm. on the wall.

"I do not that is our best option," Phlox said with a glance toward the door. "Sickbay is full of patients at the moment."

Trip nodded thoughtfully. "Let me call the captain."

x-x

Phlox looked about as serious as Trip ever remembered the Denobulan being, trademark grin entirely absent as he stood stiffly in the captain's quarters. "I asked a medic to keep an eye on him, but I am not comfortable leaving him in sickbay for any longer than necessary."

"I agree." Jon looked torn between concern and anger. "Release him," the captain said, his voice sharp. "Trip, you can escort him to his quarters. I'll have security monitor the corridors as you move, and set something up in Malcolm's rooms."

"I can have him wear a monitor," Phlox said. Jon answered with a nod.

Trip bristled at that idea. "It may not even be that he's –"

"I understand," Jon said. He began his habitual pacing, ducking almost without thought as he dodged the beams. "But between what you said, and what Phlox observed," the captain shook his head decisively. "I'm not willing to take that risk." He stopped his movement, and his expression softened. "Let's get him to his quarters, away from the people in sickbay, and then we'll decide next steps."

x-x

"You're really a lucky bastard, you know that?" Trip said, casting a sideways look at Malcolm as they moved through the busy corridor.

"How so?" Malcolm asked, keeping his tone neutral. He remembered Trip having quite the sense of humour, but at the moment, he was having trouble reading the man. He wasn't sure if that was due to his own change, or if Trip was acting differently.

"Phlox letting you go," Trip explained. "If he didn't have so many patients, I bet there's no way he'd have released you so soon."

"It's not as if I'm truly free," Malcolm said, raising his arm to indicate the portable monitor that Phlox had placed there. "And I am to remain in my quarters."

"Still, that's better than sickbay, isn't it?"

Malcolm shrugged. Then, seeing the surprised look on Trip's face, quickly added, "Yes, of course." He stopped outside his door, and ran a hand through his hair, purposefully mimicking one of Malcolm's habits.

It wasn't unusual, when he merged with another being, for him to sometimes have trouble incorporating how the being would have acted in a certain situation. It took time to fully incorporate such behaviours into his own persona, and until he did, it was best to step carefully in situations such as these, and ideally, to minimize interactions with those closest to the being. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired," he said in explanation, hoping that would assuage any doubts that Trip had about his manner. "It's been one hell of a day."

Trip blinked at that, then said, "Speaking of which." He leaned against the doorframe. "I should probably tell you, the captain had me turn off your computer's access to the network."

"What?" Malcolm said, trying to cover his alarm. Did they suspect…?

Trip gave him a sly smile. "He knew if we left it on, no way you'd rest."

Malcolm deflated with a laugh. "He's right."

"I know," Trip said, humour lighting his eyes. "Which is why I didn't bother arguing, and neither should you." He made shooing motions with his hands. "Off to bed with you."

Malcolm triggered the door with a smile. "Good night, Commander."

"Night, Malcolm," Trip replied. "Sleep well."

"Somehow," Malcolm said as he entered his quarters, "I don't think that'll be a problem."

x-x

As the door closed behind Malcolm, cutting him off from view, Trip let the smile drop from his face. "One hell of a day?" Since when had Malcolm said stuff like that? But even with that, he still wasn't sure. It could just be nothing. Malcolm had been on this ship long enough that he probably was picking up phrases from his crewmates.

Maybe. But there was something there, something he couldn't put a finger on that was not quite right.

Trip pushed away from the wall and began a slow walk back toward his own quarters. As he passed the security staff that Archer had placed in the corridor, he gave them a brief nod.

Sure, Malcolm was usually so eager to get out of sickbay that he'd gnaw off his own right arm to get out of there, and to see him simply shrug as if it didn't matter was more than a bit odd, but it wasn't as if what Malcolm had said wasn't true. It wasn't as if he hadn't been through a lot, and wasn't tired.

Or maybe he was sick, or something. It's not as if that wasn't a realistic possibility. Sure, he was no doctor, but couldn't things like brainwaves – or whatever it was that Phlox had mentioned – be affected by illness? But Phlox had said no, not in this case.

They'd experienced some pretty strange things since Enterprise had launched. But Malcolm, possessed or… whatever? How realistic was that?

God, his mind was going in circles. There was no way he'd sleep like this. Maybe he should go to engineering instead, work on something mindless for a bit, and that'd take his mind off Malcolm. No. Better, he thought, snapping his fingers. Shuttlepod One. That stupid shuttle's long-awaited and newly-installed lav was acting up. Nothing major, not enough for him to put it high on the engineering schedule, and no one on his staff was exactly chomping at the bit to spend time working on what was, in reality, a glorified portable toilet. It'd be perfect. A couple hours there, working alone and in peace, should calm him down enough that he could sleep.

Trip made an about-face in the hall, almost knocking into the person behind him. "Sorry," he said sheepishly as he stepped to the side, then kept going back toward the shuttle bay.

x-x

As soon as the door to his quarters slid shut, Malcolm set to work. His first task was to rid himself of the wrist monitor. He spent a few moments at it, calling on Malcolm's skills to reprogram the thing so it would still read as if he was wearing it, then he called on his own skills to simply compress his hand and slide out of it, placing it on his bed so it would seem as if he was sleeping.

Rubbing away the ache in his palm – the human hand was not designed to do what he'd just done – he strode across the room toward his bureau. Quickly, he changed out of the scrubs that Phlox had provided, and into some close-fitting clothes. Next, he stood tiptoed on the bed and reached, stretching until his fingers brushed the edges of the ceiling vent. He pulled it free, then was up and through the vent and into the crawl space, moving quickly toward his destination.

He'd be gone hours before they even began to suspect.

In his natural form, he'd been flexible, and he'd used that to make this human body more so, allowing him to move through the densely packed crawlspace far more quickly than Malcolm Reed alone would have done. The endurance natural to his own form helped as well, as this human was tired – he'd not been lying when he'd said that to Trip.

In short order, he reached the ceiling above the armoury. Placing himself over the vent that he knew was directly in front of the weapons locker, he shifted it aside and peered through. Coast clear – the closest personnel were across the room, looking at the monitors – he hooked his ankles on the edge, hanging upside-down from his feet as he disengaged the alarms, then the locks with a quick twist of his hand. He'd grabbed a weapon and disappeared up through the vent in mere moments. Replacing the vent cover, he checked the weapon, making sure it was set to stun. He smiled at it speculatively. He probably wouldn't need it, but if he'd learnt anything from Malcolm Reed, it was that it was best to be prepared.

Through the ceiling's crawlspace, then up through the walls, he knew that his next destination would likely be far more populated than his last. His advantage there would be in the unexpectedness of his attack.

He came out of a ventilation grate along the floor, replacing it behind him with a soft "snick". Squatting there, one hand held to the grate, he listened. There were voices coming from the other side of the shuttle… four crewmembers. Footfalls from across the launchbay… two over there. That was it. Six in total.

He stepped from behind the shuttle, revealing himself fully, weapon already drawn. He stunned the two by the door as he moved through the group nearest him, not bothering with his weapon for them, instead relishing the feel of his fist against flesh, the movement of his legs as they scissored, taking out one after another, moving faster than the humans could react. Heart beating madly, breath coming in gasps, he took them down in seconds that felt stretched, compressed, and then stretched into something more, and he remembered how all this had felt, how **good** it felt to hurt, to cause pain, to take life.

In the ensuing silence, he stepped through the open door to the shuttle, sliding into the pilot's seat and beginning the power up process. He triggered the door closed, trying to even out his breathing, regain his calm before he proceeded. The engines hummed, and he heard another noise, this one from the back.

"Malcolm?" That was Trip's voice. Malcolm kept his focus on the instruments before him. He heard someone from the bridge calling through the comm., but shut that off with an impatient hand. He wiped blood from his knuckles onto his trousers, and, pushing his hair impatiently from his sweaty forehead, prepared for launch.

Trip stepped behind him and pulled hard at his shoulder. "Malcolm? What the hell are you doing?"

Malcolm looked up into Trip's concerned eyes. "Language, Commander," he said admonishingly. Raising one brow in amusement, he raised his weapon and shot him.

Malcolm turned back to his work, huffing a soft laugh. He'd known that weapon would come in handy for something.

x-x

_Please review and let me know what you think so far. Thanks._


	4. Chapter 4

_Oh, poor Trip! _

_Thanks for all your comments and reviews. Here's the next section._

x-x

Trip came to slowly, lying still while the world seemed to shift and swirl around him. After a moment, he realized he was staring up at the ceiling of the shuttle. Turning his head, he took in the man at the controls of the tiny ship, and the viewscreen just beyond him.

They'd left Enterprise. How long ago, and how far they'd gone, he had no idea, but the only thing before them was empty space. He stared at Malcolm's back.

"Commander," Malcolm said without emotion.

"You shot me," Trip said, unable to keep the surprise and tension from his voice.

"I did have it set on stun," Malcolm said, eyes still on the controls before him.

"Still," Trip said. He went to rise, and realized his hands had been bound behind him. Wiggling until he was next to the nearest bench, he squirmed up to a seat on the floor, his back against the bench. By that time, he was out of breath and sweating; Malcolm, or whoever that was, had him trussed up but good. "Who the hell are you?"

"You know who I am."

"I know who you're *not*," Trip shot back. "Where's Malcolm? What did you do with him?"

Malcolm huffed a soft laugh. "He's here."

Trip felt a chill run through him. It was one thing to suspect such a thing; another to have it confirmed. "What do you mean?" he asked. Feeling like he was stuck inside some bad horror movie or something, he asked tentatively, "Can I speak to him?"

At that, Malcolm said back over his shoulder, "That's not possible."

"Why not?"

Still working the ship's controls, Malcolm said, "It's not possible to separate."

Trip felt his stomach clench, ice water running through his veins. "What do you mean, not possible to separate?" At Malcolm's answering shrug, Trip's anger rose, heating his cheeks. "You mean…" He shook his head in frustration, pulling against the wrist restraints. "I know you're not him, but you're telling me he's trapped in there or something?"

"Trapped?" Malcolm seemed to think that through. He finally said, "It's difficult to explain."

If what this being had said was true, if Malcolm was actually still in there, it might be possible to reach him. "Malcolm," Trip said, "If you're in there, want you to know I'm here. If there's any way you can…"

"This is all very touching, Commander," Malcolm cut him off. "But we're nearly there."

"There? There, where?" Trip asked. His eyes roved the back of the shuttle, seeking out something that might help him cut through his restraints.

Malcolm didn't answer, but Trip could see a planet coming up alongside. He heard the comm. come to life, and Malcolm responded in a low voice. It was only once he heard the answering acknowledgement that Trip realized where they were headed: it was the planet they'd visited, the one where Malcolm had had his seizure.

This made no sense.

"Let me talk to Malcolm."

"As I said, that is not possible."

"He's in there, right?" Trip asked. "So he can hear me."

There was a pause, as if the alien was truly considering his question. "Yes, and no," Malcolm finally said, still not bothering to turn away from the ship's controls. "There is no 'he'. Not as such."

Trip leaned back against the bench. "So when you're done with him, then what?"

"Oh, no." Malcolm laughed. "You don't understand. I'm here until the end of my – Malcolm's – natural life."

Trip refused to believe that. "If you were to leave…?" he asked, drawing the question out. Even if this being wouldn't leave Malcolm, maybe there was some way that he, or Phlox –

"I would not. I cannot."

"But if you did?" Trip said. "If you were to leave, would Malcolm be…?"

Malcolm finally turned to face Trip. He shook his head. "No. You don't understand. Separation is impossible. He and I, we've..." Malcolm flexed his fingers, stretching them as if enjoying the sensation. "The person you knew is gone. We are one, now." Malcolm hesitated, and almost looked sympathetic. "Perhaps, if it helps you, you should think of your friend as having died."

Trip stared at Malcolm numbly, watching as Malcolm coolly turned back to the controls.

Trip's eyes roved the back of the shuttle again, until they finally landed on his toolkit. It lay open where he'd left it, half-hidden behind the door of the console, mere inches away from where he was sitting. Maybe if he could keep Malcolm occupied, he could get himself over there and back.

Trip decided a change of tack was in order. "Why are you going back there?" he asked, keeping his eyes on Malcolm as he slid himself the few inches he needed. "Is that where you're from?" Trip slid in front of the box, grasping the knife with hands still bound behind his back. "The seizure and all that, that was you, wasn't it?" He slid back into position, then began manoeuvring the knife so that the blade touched the strap of the restraint. He tried to get it to cut the strap holding his hands, but without leverage, it was useless. Knowing there was nothing else for it, he steeled himself, then pressed against the bench behind him, trapping the knife between his back and the restraint. He started moving the blade again, its top point nicking his arm as he sliced.

"I was not able to merge with the people on this planet," Malcolm said. "Humans, however; you are different, but still, it wasn't easy. But this one – his fear," Malcolm turned to face Trip again, his expression clearly amused. "Did you know he's afraid of water?" he asked, stressing the last word in amazement.

Trip froze his movements, the knife held still against the restraint.

Malcolm continued. "The ceremony, his fear, that made it far easier. With time, I was able to merge. Now, with this body, I will return to the planet." He smiled, an edge to his voice as he said, "I have some unfinished business there."

"What sort of business?" Trip asked.

There was a signal from the comm., and Malcolm held up a warning hand as he turned back to the controls. Trip again sawed at the restraints as the shuttle banked in, breaking atmosphere, obviously headed for a landing.

As Malcolm spoke into the comm., Trip went on. "What do you want with us?"

Malcolm held up his hand again, still speaking into the comm.

When Trip got no answer, he bit out, "Why do you need Malcolm? Why do you need me?"

Malcolm slapped off the comm. and turned, eyes flashing angrily. "Malcolm," he said, accent sharp, "I need for his body, his skills. You," he said, pointing an irate finger, "You, I don't need at all. You were uninvited."

Trip responded, anger to anger. "You don't need Malcolm. You could take me. I'm an engine –"

Trip cut himself off when Malcolm reached to the weapon in his holster, flipping the switch off of "stun". Tone biting, Malcolm spat, "I suggest you shut up."

Trip froze there a moment, pinned by Malcolm's cold gaze. Then he nodded sharply.

As Malcolm turned back to the controls, the surface of the planet began to come into view. Trip gave one final, sharp pull to the knife, finally breaking the straps binding his hands. Still holding the weapon, he flexed his fingers, his wrists, trying to bring the circulation back. He shifted his legs, getting ready.

His friend was trapped in there with that… that thing. He stared at Malcolm's back. Or not quite. Not really. The alien had said that Malcolm was gone, that he should think of Malcolm has having died. Ah, hell. He didn't know what to believe. All he knew was that he had to do something.

But what? Malcolm was way better than him at hand-to-hand combat. Worse, he had no idea of the capabilities of the alien thing inside him. The only factor that Trip had in his favour was the element of surprise.

"You are number 438 in line for landing," said an automated voice on the comm. "Please put your ship on autopilot in preparation…"

Malcolm switched the shuttle to automatic.

Trip pushed himself up and burst across the cabin, knife in hand. He went directly for Malcolm's throat, hoping he could choke him out, render him unconscious. Before he could wrap his arm around Malcolm's neck, Malcolm grabbed his arm and pulled, trying for the knife. Trip jerked back. The blade flew out of his hand and clattered to the floor.

Malcolm was at him in a flash, body moving in ways that Trip had never seen, never observed Malcolm training, wasn't even sure a human body could do. Blows landed on his ribs. Another to his face, coming faster than Malcolm could possibly move. Kicks to his hip, his back, and he twisted and fell face-up. Malcolm landed straddled on top of him. Dazed, Trip felt, rather than saw, Malcolm reaching for the gun. Trip grabbed for it. The gun came away, ending up in Trip's hand.

Trip pushed the weapon forcefully up into Malcolm's stomach.

Malcolm looked down at him, eyes cold. "It's not set on stun."

"I know," Trip said flatly.

Malcolm cocked an eyebrow. "You wouldn't. He's your friend."

"My friend is dead," Trip said, suddenly believing every word. Malcolm was gone. He could see it in this thing's eyes. Malcolm was gone. Trip's finger twitched on the trigger.

Malcolm blinked, frowned. "Trip," he said.

Trip gasped. There was something… The eyes. Malcolm's eyes. For a second there, he thought he saw –

Malcolm wrenched the weapon from Trip's hand, turned it around and shot him.

x-x

_Please let me know what you think of this so far. Thanks!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry for the delay posting this. I have fallen behind on my non-work life. Rest assured that the story is actually *done*. The only delay is in my posting. _

x-x

Malcolm stood, leaving Trip's body where it lay on the ground. He stepped away, holstering his weapon as he returned to the controls, sinking into the pilot's seat with a sigh.

It was kind of too bad, what he'd had to do to Trip. He'd almost found himself liking the man, despite his many annoying qualities, including the incessant talking. Having to shoot him, in the end, was, in a way, disappointing. Too impersonal. Too quick. Still, it was done. Now, to focus on the task at hand.

The ship rocked and shook, then pulled up sharply. He grabbed the edge of the console, anchoring himself there.

The comm. came alive, the automated voice saying, "Landing privileges are revoked. You are unauthorized."

Malcolm swore aloud as he felt the ship accelerate, and the ground fell away as the shuttle was pushed up into the outer atmosphere again.

Bloody hell. Bugger. Bollocks. Fuck him from a height. He'd thought he'd been in, there. He'd introduced himself as Malcolm Reed from Enterprise, and that seemed to have worked. He'd thought all was well. What had happened?

As the shuttle broke through the atmospheric barrier and entered space, he caught sight of a large ship looming into view over the planet's horizon and his heart sank. Enterprise. Of course. He'd thought he'd evaded them. How had they…? Madly trying for evasive manoeuvres, the controls ignoring his every move, he realised what had happened: tracking. They'd tracked him here, despite the distance, via the beacon that he himself had installed on each shuttlepod. He should have known that. He growled his frustration, pounding his fist on the console. *Malcolm* knew that. Somehow, Malcolm must have shielded that information from him. That should not have been possible. Malcolm should be fully subsumed into the whole.

All wasn't lost quite yet. He still had this body. Enterprise would bring him on board, and between Malcolm's skills and his own, he'd manage an escape. He'd been trying to get away on the shuttlepod, avoid the muss and fuss of taking over Enterprise herself. But if pressed; if he didn't get away today; if they forced him… Exhaling loudly, he returned his focus to the controls. If not today, then soon enough.

It wasn't until he felt the knife plunge into his back that he realized how foolish he'd been.

He turned toward his attacker, and felt it again, in his ribs. Sharp pain gone dull; hot to cold in an instant. He looked from the knife, to the hand holding it, and up into the face of the man who'd struck him. Trip. He wrapped his own hand around where Trip's was clenched on the hilt of the knife, thinking he might push it away, but somehow, he couldn't quite manage.

"I didn't think you had it in you," he said.

Trip looked him in the eyes. "That's because you don't know me at all." And at that, Trip wrenched the knife, turning it as he pulled it out.

Malcolm fell from his seat, lying crumpled on the floor by the console. He stared at Trip's feet. He should fight back. He should get up, and grab that knife, and… He should…

Trip squatted beside him and, with a shaking hand, pushed Malcolm's hair back from his forehead.

Malcolm's eyes slid closed. "No," he managed to say.

"Sorry, kid," Trip said softly, from somewhere quite close.

Malcolm knew what was coming. When he felt the sharp thrust of pain in his side, he let it come.

x-x

Trip pushed himself to his feet, the knife dropping from his hand as he stood. He could see Enterprise filling most of the viewscreen, and he knew he didn't have much time. He could not bring this thing aboard Enterprise.

Wincing against the pain in his side from where the alien had shot him, he gave one last glance to the body on the floor beneath his feet. "Damn it, Malcolm," he said softly. He closed his eyes tight against the sight.

Malcolm's shot felt like it had taken a chunk out of his side, but it was more of a graze; nothing that Phlox couldn't patch up. Funny, that at such close range, and with Malcolm's level of skill, his aim had been that far off. And that – that thing had just left him there afterwards. Malcolm would never have just assumed he was dead. Malcolm would have checked. That thing had not been Malcolm.

He'd been so angry. That thing had stolen his friend from him. That thing had forced him to… He hissed in a breath, pushing that memory aside for now. He had too much to do.

God, he hoped this worked. He knew the alien could get into humans. Sure, it had said that it had chosen Malcolm because of the ceremony, and the fear. He was feeling plenty of fear himself, and he had no idea if that thing could really only go into Malcolm, or if it could go into any human, travelling at will from host to host as each one died. Or maybe there was something about the ceremony itself that was needed in order to do the transfer. He had no way of knowing, but he had to assume the thing could go in any human; that it was in him now. How long he had left – how long he'd be able to control his own actions, he had no idea. Not long, probably. Not long.

His solution was not a pretty one – he could imagine the reaction he'd get from Jon if he told him about his plan - but it might just work, and it really was the only thing that might. He looked down to where Malcolm lay crumpled on the floor, blood staining his uniform. With a shaking hand, he reached over and turned off the shuttle's atmospheric controls.

He triggered the comm., and held his voice steady as he spoke. "Hoshi," he said. "Is the captain there?"

x-x

Trip stood at the front of the shuttle, staring out at the great ship beyond. His Enterprise: she truly was beautiful.

Trip knew it would take Enterprise at least ten minutes to bring them on board. He hoped that was both enough time, and not too much. He'd told the captain that Malcolm was dead; that the thing inside Malcolm was dead. He'd asked if he could have a few minutes alone, just to… He let out a sigh, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth and something else. He'd deliberately sabotaged the shuttle's drive system, so Enterprise would have to tow her in. All in order to buy himself – to buy Malcolm – some time.

He and Malcolm had gotten fairly close over the past year. It had surprised him. Malcolm had come across as such a stuck up bastard when he'd first met him, and he knew he himself had bothered the hell out of Malcolm at first. Who'd have thought they'd end up being friends? But Malcolm actually had a sense of humour underneath that uptight exterior. You just had to get to know him.

Trip smiled wanly at the memories. Turning away from the viewport, he sank to the floor beside Malcolm, resting a hand on Malcolm's unmoving shoulder. Friendships won and lost.

Friends. Jon. He knew what he was about to do would abuse that friendship – perhaps damage it beyond repair – but he saw no other option.

He could tell Jon. Perhaps, with enough time, he'd be able to get Jon to go along with his plan. But he really didn't have the time, and more than that, he didn't want to make Jon complicit in this. The man had enough on his shoulders already, without having to – No. Just, no. This was his decision. His alone. He'd live with the repercussions.

He could feel the cold seeping into him, the floor beneath him already gone icy; it reminded him, again, of his and Malcolm's last adventure on Shuttlepod One. That had been the true beginning of their friendship. That this could be the end… somehow, it was fitting.

He looked down at his friend. "Hope this works," he murmured, voice tight, from the cold or the emotion, he wasn't sure.

The ship jerked, then began moving. Enterprise must have locked on. Breath pluming out before him, Trip stuck out one leg, and used his foot to move the knife across the deck. When it was close enough, he grasped it in a shaky hand. He stared at the knife, then again at Malcolm. No soft puffs of breath, fogging in the chill air. No movement. No life at all. Still, he reached out a hand, cupping it over Malcolm's mouth for a moment, checking for breath. He let his hand fall away. "Sorry, kid," he said, not sure what for – for what he'd already done, or for what would happen next.

Trip lifted the knife, trying vainly to hold the thing steady despite the cold making his fingers clumsy. He stared at the weapon, winced, and then rolled his eyes at himself in exasperation. Biting his lip, he looked over at Malcolm. "You better hope to hell this works."

Yeah, he thought. The both of them.

x-x

_Please let me know what you think of this so far. Thanks!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks so much to everyone who's commented. _

_Here's the final section. This is it, all. Enjoy!_

x-x

Trip flailed madly against the fog, a bright light forcing him to turn away. Hands grasped his arms, holding him down.

"You're all right," a voice said from nearby. Jon. "Trip, you're all right. You're in sickbay."

Trip stilled, focused. The scene came clear, the fog rolling back, the lights resolving into one fixture overhead, then faces: Jon and Phlox. Sickbay and Enterprise. He was home.

Malcolm? If he was here, Malcolm was here. He needed to tell the captain.

"Jon." He grabbed the captain's arm. "That wasn't Malcolm," he said, voice cracked and desperate.

"I know," Jon said, brow wrinkled in a frown.

"That thing told me it was there until death; I had no choice –"

Jon exchanged a concerned look with Phlox. "It's all right, Trip," Jon said.

Trip ran right over him. "Then I thought it maybe was in me, and I couldn't bring it back to the ship." He knew he was rambling, but he couldn't manage to stop. He saw Phlox inject something into his IV line, and he almost immediately felt the warmth. Suddenly, he was so damn tired. "Sorry." He was, for everything.

Jon exchanged another look with Phlox, who gave him a nod.

Trip released his grip on Jon's arm. "Any sign of that thing?" Trip asked, voice coming out rough. He ran a hand across his eyes, then let his arm fall across them, blocking out the light.

"Your readings are normal. The alien is no longer in you, if it ever was." Phlox said.

"Whatever it was, it's gone," Jon added.

How could they be sure? He'd have to… Once he got out, he'd… His eyes shot open. "Malcolm?" Trip gasped.

This, Phlox answered. "He'll recover."

Trip let his arm slide to the bed in his relief, his eyes sliding closed again as he said, "I stabbed him."

"We got to him in time," Jon said. "Lowering the temperature like that probably saved your lives. Phlox tells me that hypothermia…"

Malcolm was here. He was alive, and they were safe. It had worked. His plan had worked. They were here, and alive… Trip missed the rest of what Jon said, letting the sound of Jon's voice, and the feel of the engines vibrating through the ship, lull him to sleep.

x-x

It took some time for Malcolm to feel that he was well and truly awake. At first, it seemed a series of unrelated scenes: Phlox was there sometimes, as was the Captain. Trip was there most often. But it was all too muddled for him to make sense of any of it. He knew he was in sickbay. He knew something had happened. But what, he couldn't quite grasp.

It wasn't until he came fully awake and lay there, staring up at the night-darkened ceiling of sickbay, that he remembered. And then he wished he hadn't.

x-x

Trip lowered himself into the chair near Malcolm's bed, hissing against the pulls in his side from where he'd been shot, and in his stomach where the doc had patched him up. He settled on the seat, one hand on the IV pole he'd dragged along with him, and stared at his friend lying motionless on the bed. Well, not quite motionless. He was breathing, a reassuring rise and fall to his chest that Trip couldn't help checking on every visit he'd made since they'd returned from the shuttle. Phlox had told him that Malcolm seemed better, more awake now, but at this moment, anyway, his friend was sleeping. Sleeping and dreaming – his eyes moving wildly against clenched lids, shadowed dark against pale skin, breath coming in gasps. Nightmares. Understandable.

He wondered what Malcolm remembered. He hoped it wasn't much.

x-x

Malcolm woke with a start, the violence of his dreams shocking him awake. He turned his head, catching sight of Trip sitting in the nearest chair, the privacy curtain closed behind him and blocking off the rest of sickbay. He exhaled, shutting his eyes against the sight. He was not ready for this. He could barely look at the man, never mind talk to him.

"Malcolm?"

Malcolm let his eyes open slowly. Trip looked horrible – eyes sunken and shadowed, sitting hunched forward slightly, a large bandage clearly visible through his thin shirt.

Malcolm had been trying not to think of what had happened, of what he'd done. He'd been sleeping as much as possible, dozing the rest of the time, and trying not to think. Trying, and failing.

Finally, he asked, "Did I do that?" He indicated Trip's bandaged stomach with a look and a raised hand.

Trip gingerly touched the bandage under his shirt. "No," he said, and left it at that. "What do you remember?"

"Everything," Malcolm said quietly. He shut his eyes, the scenes playing out before him. "Everything," he whispered. "I shot you."

"That wasn't you," Trip said firmly.

"I was there. I shot you."

"I was there," Trip echoed. "I remember. You stunned me. And anyway, I stabbed you."

"No, you don't understand." Malcolm opened his eyes. "I stunned you, yes, but that second time…" He clearly remembered that the weapon had not been set on stun. That he had known that. That he hadn't cared.

"That wasn't you, Malcolm."

It had been him. He remembered shooting Trip, how Trip had crumpled to the ground in front of him, how he'd turned his back on his friend and left him there for dead. How he'd been glad for the silence, after Trip's incessant… He gasped, hands clenching at the blanket beneath them. He'd done that. He'd done all that. God help him.

"Those people in the shuttle bay," he said, remembering the fight he'd had on his way to the shuttle. He tried to elbow himself up to a seat, but fell back to the bed, hissing against the sudden, sharp pain.

"Malcolm, stay still –"

"How is Ensign Martinez?"

"Already back on duty. Everyone's fine."

"I thought I killed him. I… I wanted to. I…" Malcolm shut his eyes, remembering the feel, the pleasure. "I really wanted to." A chill went through his body, and he trembled as if he were freezing; as if he and Trip were back on Shuttlepod One, that time months back when they'd got trapped there, when they'd thought Enterprise had been destroyed. He'd thought his life was over, then. He wished –

"You didn't. Just like you could have killed me, and with your training, at close range, should have killed me, but didn't."

"I wanted to," Malcolm said hopelessly. He kept his eyes shut, so he couldn't see Trip's response to what he was about to say. "I liked it. It was…" He shook his head against the thought. "It was fun. It felt..." He stopped talking as his breathing hitched, but couldn't help the thought that came next: it had been the most fun he'd had in years. The feel of his body, blood pounding – adrenaline coursing through him, lighting him on fire. The feel of the fight, fists hitting flesh. He fisted the blanket, clenching it tight. God, even now…

As if reading his mind, Trip said, "That wasn't you. That thing had taken you over. Don't you remember?"

"I remember everything," Malcolm said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"And Phlox must have told you –?"

Malcolm spoke across him. "I remember it like it was. Like I… I actually was that… That was me. I was…" He stared up at the ceiling, feeling lost.

He heard Trip stand, and the soft pad of his feet as he shuffled to the bedside, the screech of the wheels of the IV pole reminding Malcolm of what he'd done to his friend; of what he'd wanted to do. Still, he didn't look at him.

"You could have killed me, and the others," Trip said, his voice low and even. "You didn't. Maybe you had more control than you thought."

Maybe he… maybe he did, but that didn't change the fact that he'd intended to kill Trip; that he'd wanted to kill Trip. That he'd wanted to kill Martinez, and the others. He'd attacked, and he hadn't cared who he'd hurt. He'd *wanted* to hurt, to cause pain. He'd enjoyed it. He could still feel… He'd do it again… Breath coming faster, he scrunched his eyes shut, shaking his head against the memory. That wasn't him. It hadn't been him. Wasn't him now. But it felt as if it was. "I liked it," he murmured, more to himself than to Trip. He met Trip's gaze, wanting someone else to understand, to know how dangerous he was… had been…

Trip was right there, standing by his bedside: close, too close. "That wasn't you."

"I remember how it felt," Malcolm said, desperation forcing the words out. "What I did to you, to them. How I enjoyed…" the fear, the blood; God, the high he'd felt. "You should go," he said. "It's not safe here. Did you station security…?"

Trip cast a worried glance to the curtain behind him, then said, "That's not necessary. That thing is long gone." He pressed the call button on Malcolm's bed.

"Trip, please," Malcolm said. He wasn't sure he could trust himself.

"Give it time," Trip said softly, his expression anguished. "Let Phlox help you. Give yourself some time to find yourself again."

"What if I don't?" Malcolm said anxiously.

"You will."

"What if I –"

The curtain parted and Phlox came in.

"Mister Reed," Phlox said, perceptive eyes roving from his patient to the monitors. "I'm going to give you something to calm you."

"Will it make me sleep?"

"It may." Phlox injected something into his IV line, and after a moment, Malcolm felt it hit.

"Dreams?" he asked.

Phlox shook his head. "No."

"Good," Malcolm said.

x-x

Trip could actually see the change in is friend's aspect. Calmer, but also, somehow, flatter. He knew that, normally, Malcolm hated to take any sort of drug, never mind the type of thing he suspected Phlox had just dosed him with. But he also knew it was necessary, in the short term. From Malcolm's reaction to what Phlox had said, he suspected his friend knew that as well.

He wished he could remove those memories. He wasn't sure how anyone could live with them.

Phlox raised the head of Malcolm's bed, then departed with a soft, "Two more minutes, Commander."

"Hold up, Doc," Trip said. He glanced back to Malcolm, who was, it seemed purposefully, not meeting his eye. Then he shuffled through the curtain. "Doc…?"

Phlox held up a hand. In a low voice, he said, "What he's experiencing is…" He shook his head, expression showing his concern.

"Is there anything that you can do?"

Phlox nodded. "Medications can help. Talk therapy." He gave Trip a soft smile. "Talking to friends. With time…"

With time, Trip thought. He nodded his thanks, and returned to the curtain, one hand poised, raised to pull it aside. He hesitated. Then he tugged it open.

Malcolm's eyes met his. "How did you know it would work?" Malcolm asked.

It was such a non-sequitor, that Trip didn't know what Malcolm was asking until Malcolm draped his arm gingerly across his belly, placing a tentative hand on the wound at his side. One wound of three, Trip thought with a wince; he had his own memories to deal with.

"I didn't," Trip answered, returning to Malcolm's bedside. "I guessed, based on something you… that thing had said; that he'd be with you until the end of your life." Trip gave him a wan smile, and said the rest quietly. "I knew you wouldn't want to live that way."

Malcolm gave him a sharp nod. "And yourself?" he asked, with a pointed look to Trip's bandaged stomach.

"I knew it could get into humans. I was right there. I couldn't give it a chance to come back to Enterprise. I had to at least try."

"How do you know?" Malcolm asked, eyes already starting to close. Phlox must have given him the good stuff.

"Phlox and T'Pol checked. Nothing," Trip said. "Maybe it's out in space, maybe on that planet, or maybe it died when… when you did." Trip shook his head. He still didn't know what that thing had planned to do, if it had reached the planet. Malcolm likely knew. If he really remembered everything, he probably remembered that as well. That thing's plans, whatever they had been, were now as much a part of Malcolm as… Trip actually shook his head to ward off that thought. He finally said, firm enough to convince the both of them, "All I know is that it's not here."

"And we are," Malcolm murmured, sounding half asleep.

Trip grabbed his arm, hard; hard enough that Malcolm opened his eyes again. "And we are," Trip echoed firmly.

For now, that'd have to do.

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_End_

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Please review and let me know what you thought of this. Thank you!

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I was inspired by some ideas in Rob Thurman's book, "Nightlife".


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